“Pray, madame, have the goodness to retrace my letters in your memory.”
“Your letters!—you have written to me?”
“Too seldom, madame, to express all that was in my heart.”
The queen rose.
“Terminate this jesting, sir. What do you mean by letters? How can you dare to say such things?”
“Ah! madame, perhaps I have allowed myself to speak too freely the secret of my soul.”
“What secret? Are you in your senses, monsieur?”
“Madame!”
“Oh! speak out. You speak now like a man who wishes to embarrass one before witnesses.”
“Madame, is there really any one listening to us?”